Relative Something

Long ago in my life, so long that it’s embarrassing to admit, I discovered I don’t care for alcohol one bit. There was a brief period where I figured I should learn to like it, seeing how it was such a large part of people’s lives and a pretty significant expectation in which to imbibe upon attaining legal drinking age. But my better sense overcame that idea, aided nicely by my ongoing dislike of the taste of alcohol in all its forms. Among the multiple reasons I’m grateful for that, the most significant is that it tends to be the number one drug of choice for people with depression, and I would have likely complicated my experience of seeking a remedy for that mental struggle –and more likely than not, made a bigger mess of things up to that point.

At the time I was making my decision to just do without alcohol entirely, I was struck by the presence of the drug in 100% of the conflicts and life-dramas I was witnessing. It also seemed to be present in every violent crime, auto death, and domestic dispute I was reading about in the paper or hearing of in the news. I figured I was improving my odds greatly by avoiding it altogether.

Still, it has never been far off. Nothing is more difficult for me than the role it plays in the lives of people close to me. How I have wished to just have them make the same decision I did and abstain entirely. It frustrates me that there is no definitive point clarifying that intangible transition from unimpaired to intoxicated. How much is too much? How long is too long? I’m afraid, as patient a man as I am, I have no patience for enduring the period of increased drinking, and the associated consequences, that must eventually build up to earning a justifiable intervention.

It all seems so unnecessary and entirely avoidable.

I suffer the fact that even though I am able to completely eliminate my intake of alcohol, I remain under the influence of its impact, through the experiences of people around me.